


Ten New Messages

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, M/M, Madness, PG - Green Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars), Time Period: 1981-2006 (Life on Mars), Time Period: 2006-present (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-14
Packaged: 2019-01-20 19:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: The world was a mess, but his hair was perfect.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

  
Author's notes: Crossover [LoM/A2A]. Gen (mostly; hints otherwise, but just hints). Deep-seated and deep-seeded angst. Dark. Blue Cortina/Blue Quattro. Spoilers for all of LoM. Spoilers through S1.06 of A2A as well. Cortina + Quattro will likely get darker in the next part, just FYI.

This is my loving manhandling of a bunny LM_Jillybean graciously left in my care. I only hope I did it justice, because it was a _really_ good idea. XD Title lifted from "The World Was A Mess (But His Hair Was Perfect)" by the Rakes.  


* * *

As he contemplated the glass of whiskey in his hand, Gene mulled over the clippings he'd kept in a folder in the back of his bottom desk drawer. The hour was late, and it was quiet, and he was alone; fear of reprisal or misplaced sympathy was, thankfully, nowhere to be found.

 

 

He'd never thought he'd come to the point where he'd _miss_ the poncey bastard.

 

 

Still, it couldn't hurt to admit, once in awhile. Times changed. He'd got older; they all had. As he sometimes did when feeling particularly thoughtful, he turned his lighter over and over in his hand, absently. Feeling the ridges of the inscription, knowing by rote exactly when and where he'd hit its seams. The way the top flipped up, and the way that once it was lit, it stayed lit. Genius invention, that. He'd been pleased, if a little shocked, when his DI had presented him with it.

 

 

_"Since I can't seem to stop you, here,"_ Sam said, thrusting the small box into Gene's hands and mumbling, stuffing his hands into his pockets and not making eye contact. He still wore that damnable leather jacket, though certain interesting parts of it had become worn and shiny with time and the effects of wearing it day-in and day-out for so long. 

 

 

Gene was flustered---an odd thing. _"Well if you're after a pressie, I didn't get you anything, Tyler."_ he'd said, hands reflexively clasping the smoothly wrapped box just a little tighter than was strictly necessary. His eyes glittered with something unreadable as he silently demanded eye contact of his DI. 

 

 

Sam looked up and met his gaze, face closed up tight, eyes technically open but completely shuttered. He jerked his chin up, once, in a nod, then stared meaningfully at the package in his DCI's hands and refused to look up at his eyes again. 

 

 

Gene turned the box over carefully in his hands, looking for the _de rigeur_ sellotaped seam and sliding his thumbnail just underneath to pull the paper apart neatly. His rather large hands completely dwarfed the tiny package, but he handled it delicately all the same; years of finessing the gear shifts on his long string of automoloves had taught him when to prise roughly and when to take special care. Besides which, in all the time they'd known each other, he'd never had a gift from Sam.

 

 

_"Thanks. For everything."_ Gene read aloud as he turned the lighter over in his hands, gently flicking the wheel and admiring its smooth workings as the wheel caught and caused the friction that would have lit anything he liked---if he'd had the lid flipped open. Wordlessly, he snapped the lid open and shut, resisting the urge to direct a questioning look at his DI. Experience had told him he'd probably get an explanation without having to even try.

 

 

_"It's windproof, you see. I thought it would come in handy on stakeouts,"_ Sam mimed cupping his hands around a lighter and lighting a cigarette. Which was foolish, he knew; Gene had technically been smoking for more years than Sam had actually been alive. 

 

 

_"You plannin on goin somewhere, Gladys?"_ Gene's voice was rough, rougher than he'd intended. 

 

 

_"Course not, Guv. Why would I?"_ Sam offered a smile that never quite reached his eyes, a sight which had become distressingly familiar. 

 

 

Gene grunted in a way that could have been considered thankful in some circles, and stuck the lighter in his pocket.

 

 

Next day had been the botched robbery blag.

 

 

As he'd watched his DI die, he recalled the last thing he'd said.

 

 

_"LIAR."_

 

 

Some anniversaries were better spent alone.

******

With absolutely no ceremony whatsoever, Alex nearly walked through the door to Gene's office before she'd managed to open it. "Another all-nighter, Gene?" she huffed impatiently. Impatience turned to barely-checked distaste as she eyed the nearly-empty bottle sitting next to Gene's outstretched hand on the floor next to his chair.

 

 

Gene looked up from his desk blearily, the front of his shirt rumpled so badly from his fitful night's sleep that even the placket looked wrecked. He started to clear his throat and offer a response, but couldn't find words. There wasn't any point. 

 

 

Protestations of how he shouldn't drink alone and how things would only end badly if he kept on this way died on Alex's tongue as she took in the entire scene and noticed the clippings. Paled. Joined in the saying of absolutely nothing at all, frozen in a hovering position over the front of Gene's desk.

 

 

A few moments later, Gene managed to pull himself up off his desk into a sitting position, sweeping the clippings into his top desk drawer and slamming it shut with one motion. 

 

 

"You never told me what happened to him," Alex said, quietly.

 

 

"Gunshot wound. Botched robbery. Bad business," Gene closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, stretching and trying to work the knots out of his back and shoulders. 

 

 

"And?" Alex prompted.

 

 

"'And' nothing. Leave off." Gene sent her the most dangerous look she'd yet seen from him, startling her into compliance for the first time in their acquaintance that either of them could remember.

 

 

Preoccupied as they were with each other, neither of them noticed the door behind them opening again. 

 

 

"Took me ages to find this place," came a male voice from behind Alex that made her blood turn to ice. 

 

 

The blood drained from Gene's face, confirming what she already knew anyway. "It's not possible," he said quietly, although he didn't look as shocked as Alex would have expected, all things considered.

 

 

At times like these, Alex usually found it helpful to divorce herself from her surroundings and pretend as though she was watching the scene playing out around her through one-way glass. It helped to compartmentalise; it allowed her to process and function in ways she would otherwise have difficulty with. The trouble with this particular time, of course, was that the lines were beginning to blur. She was finding herself sucked in, no matter how far she stuck out her arms and waved them to stop herself falling.

 

 

"What's not possible? Oh, right, let's see, you leaving me alone in hospital, not knowing if I'm alive or dead and then uprooting the entire team and move down here?" Sam ignored Alex and ripped directly into Gene, eyes blazing, as though he hadn't been gone ten minutes.

 

 

"Well, not the _entire_ team," Gene sulked, suddenly finding something very interesting about the ring of tea left around the outside bottom of the mug on his desk. 

 

 

"Well, no, obviously. At least Annie had the decency to _stay and wait_ ," Sam spat, waves of frustration spilling off him in ways that were very nearly tactile.

 

 

"You were _dead_ ," Gene began. "Everyone had to move on."

 

 

"I _wasn't_. Maybe it'd be easier on you if I was." the fire in Sam's eyes dimmed as he closed the conversation and turned around, preparing to walk out. 

 

 

"Sam, WAIT." Alex found her voice. She'd only meant to dip her toes into this world; after all, it was all in her head, wasn't it? But all her years of training couldn't get her to work out how or why she'd come up with this particular scenario. It caught her and reeled her in, even as she realised exactly what it was doing. Tearing a page out of Gene's book, she'd decided somewhere along the line to play the game. This round, anyway.

 

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Sam began, not turning to face Alex as he did.

 

 

"You weren't. I mean, you did, but under the circumstances..." Alex gestured with her hands as she spoke, a habit she sometimes did in lieu of eye contact with her conversation partner-of-the-moment.

 

 

"I'll just let you get back to work," Sam continued, hand pulling at the doorknob. From her vantage point, Alex could see small muscles all along his jaw working and straining as he poised himself for exit.

 

 

"But you can't...you're not supposed to be here!" something in Alex finally broke, and she ended with a shout at the "here."

 

 

"Yeah, that's what I kept saying," Sam's smile held not a single trace of mirth as he turned around. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

 

 

"DC...DI...just...Alex Drake," she snapped, hair flying about as she clutched her head and shook violently. 

 

 

"Pleased to meet you, Alex Drake. Now if you'll excuse me, I've enough sense to tell when I'm not wanted," Sam smiled, not unkindly this time, and offered his hand to her to shake while simultaneously shifting as though to actually leave this time.

 

 

Seizing the opportunity, Alex took his hand and said, "But we've met before. Don't you remember? Back in..." she glanced nervously over her shoulder at Gene before continuing. "Back in Hyde. I was helping you after your unfortunate...accident. Don't you remember?"

 

 

"What accident was this?" Sam smiled, faintly bemused at the fact that Alex wouldn't let go of his hand.

 

 

"With the car. You were in a coma. Eventually you came out of it, but you'd imagined..." she stopped again, unsure how to continue.

 

 

"He sold you that line too?" Gene directed his question toward Alex, nodding his head toward Sam as though he wasn't there.

 

 

"No! I mean, it wasn't a line, it _really happened_!" Alex blurted, now clutching her head again, dropping Sam's hand in the process.

 

 

"Pub?" Sam spoke around Alex's head as she clutched it harder while trying to remember how to breathe.

 

 

"Pub." Gene met his eyes and gave a decisive nod of confirmation, keys to the Quattro and his coat suddenly finding their way into his hands with all due alacrity. 

 

 

Taking pity on the newcomer, Sam instinctively grabbed Alex's right arm up near her shoulder and guided her out the door.

******

"This...this just isn't possible!" Alex continued to babble even after Luigi had poured her a nice glass of the house red and sent a very piercing look of appraisal in Sam's direction, trying to gauge whether or not he was any potential threat to Signor Hunt's happiness.

 

 

Sam had noticed this look and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

 

 

Gene, meanwhile, looked as though all his Christmasses had come at once. "I'd always known you were a great big faker," he nearly burbled into his wineglass, so happy was he to see Sam. He clapped him on the shoulder, once, hard, taking a big swig from his glass, swirling it, and setting it down.

 

 

"So there's no more Missus, then, Gene?" Sam's eyes slid over to Alex fractionally, ensuring his unspoken message was transmitted loud and clear.

 

 

"No, she left. Ages ago. Not as 'ages ago' as you, obviously, but it's old news," the light in Gene's eyes dimmed as he moodily took another swig and looked away.

 

 

"Sorry to hear that, Gene," Sam said, and he sounded genuine as he closed his right hand over Gene's and squeezed, giving the other man no choice but to look him in the eye.

 

 

Previously, this would have provoked various pronouncements of what kind of fairy he, Sam, was exactly. Whether it was because he was too relieved or too shocked couldn't easily be determined; in any case, Gene let it slide. And took another drink in silence. 

 

 

Eventually, Sam took his hand away, and kept his own counsel.

******

Later in the evening, Sam had convinced Gene that he should walk Alex around a bit before she went home.

 

 

"Clearly she's had a nasty shock of some kind, it'll do her some good to get out and take a walk in the fresh air," he'd said.

 

 

Gene had grimaced. "If you can call it that." But he'd readily agreed, and bid them a good night before packing himself off home in the Quattro.

 

 

Alex still wasn't saying much; she seemed to be stuck in some sort of mild state of catatonia. The kind where she was still functional enough to have sipped at her wineglass tentatively back in the restaurant, and was still capable of picking up her white leather jacket and fitting it over her arms and not forgetting to wipe her mouth before they left the restaurant. The kind where she still knew how to walk in those kitten-heeled boots of hers. The kind where she was completely on autopilot, and her mind had long since left the building.

 

 

Ever solicitous, and now especially keen on avoiding making anyone feel abandoned in any way, Sam was content to walk along in silence beside her, though eventually he couldn't help but break it with questions of his own.

 

 

"So how long have you known the Guv?" he asked.

 

 

No response.

 

 

He tried again. "Where do you think you know me from?"

 

 

"HYDE." she blurted, her voice short and clipped and cold and not unlike an automaton.

 

 

"Well, you can't have done, because I'm not actually _from_ 'Hyde,'" Sam's amusement was tinged with exasperation, which was further underscored visually by his making little parenthesis gestures with his fingers. 

 

 

Here was exactly what Alex's brain needed to jog her back to the present---wherever the present was. "You and I both know 'Hyde' is a nickname for a certain place and time, Sam." she volleyed back, making air-parentheses of her own. 

 

 

"Just what has Gene told you about me?" Sam stopped dead on the walk, no longer smiling.

 

 

"Nothing, actually. I wish he would. It's obvious you meant something to him, and while I know none of this is real and I'm still working out why I'd be imagining the people from the fantasy that _you_ came up with, I still can't help but feel sorry for what he must have lost. And oh my God, I do think I've finally gone round the bend," Alex finished, momentarily slack-jawed at herself.

 

 

"Did you sneak into my files, then?" Sam accused, arms crossed over his chest as he fought a pitched and furious battle to remain still and not start pacing away his anxiety.

 

 

"NO! You really don't remember me? You poured out your life in 1973 Manchester to me, on paper and via recordings! It was _all there_! Gene, Ray, Chris...everyone! Everything! When I showed up here, I was convinced I'd just conjured them up out of what you'd told me! I'm still trying to figure out how to get home. I suppose I shouldn't ask you for any advice about that," she grimaced. "You broke your mother's heart, you know. Not that you'd care anyway. Before you cracked, you had a pretty nice racket going, didn't you, DCI Tyler?"

 

 

"Look, I've only just met you, but it's not sounding particularly like _I'm_ the one who's cracked," Sam responded, all caged resentment boiling up through the surface. Which, alone, was enough to give him pause. He never let anyone wind him up like this---except maybe for Gene.

 

 

"You had everyone on your side, Sam. Everyone. Everyone believed in you and hoped you'd get better and hoped you'd snap out of it, when all the time _you'd_ been the one who'd engineered Maya Roy's kidnapping in the first place. Just like you'd done with anyone who got too close to you! Coldly efficient, calculating everything down to the last _millimetre_ , that's what they told me about you when I came to 'Hyde.'" Alex hissed, stopping her tirade only because she obviously needed to take a breath.

 

 

"I'm afraid I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about. This is where I leave you. Good night," Sam said. It was, he reflected, a lot easier to extricate yourself from a conversation with no hard feelings toward ridiculous accusations if you were utterly convinced the person with whom you were talking was a complete nutter.


	2. Chapter 2

Try as he might, Sam couldn't sleep. At all.

 

 

He'd managed to put away enough scotch to sink a small ship, and yet he was still wide awake and more clearheaded than he thought he'd ever been. He'd tried counting everything he could think of, up to and including the threads in the duvet he'd wrapped himself in as he stared at the ceiling fruitlessly. 

 

 

Occasionally, he'd tried shutting his eyes, but that did no good; they always mutinied and flew open a few moments later, regardless of how often he ordered them to stay shut. 

 

 

Deciding there was nothing for it, he sat up and began pulling on his trousers, trainers, shirt, and jacket. Most people thought he kept his hair so short out of some peculiar personal predilection, and perhaps they were right; it came in awfully useful when he got restless enough to rush out of the house at a moment's notice, no matter what time-period he was currently occupying.

******

"Who the hell thinks they're wakin me up out of a sound sleep at this ungodly hour?" came a muffled roar from behind the door, shortly followed by a crash that sounded as though a whole shelf of cookware had been dislodged by the noise and fallen all over an uncarpeted floor.

 

 

A few moments later, the door in question was pulled open from the inside so forcefully the handle ricocheted off the wall. Gene eyed Sam up warily, then stood aside wordlessly and motioned him into the flat.

 

 

"You too?" he said, scrubbing his hands over his face and back through his hair, wishing it worked as well for wiping away wakefulness as it did for wiping away drowsiness. 

 

 

"Has Alex said anything about me to you before?" Sam asked.

 

 

"What, no foreplay?" Gene barked, then smirked slightly. "She’s told me nowt, although she did seem to take an unhealthy amount of interest in you when she found out what had happened---or really, what we _thought_ had happened to you. So tell me, how did you fool all the doctors, then?" Gene crossed his arms, trying not to look as though he felt slightly betrayed by Sam's current state.

 

 

"I don't know what you mean by that," Sam started to say something else, thought the better of it, and stopped short, considering. His eyes glittered icily in the dim yellow light coming from the sconce on the wall.

 

 

"You were _dead_ ," Gene said quietly, almost with a questioning tone. 

 

 

"It's getting rather unsettling, all these people other than me telling me how I'm not supposed to be here in one way or another. Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Sam roared, pacing angrily. He'd long since got over the idea of trying to hide this particular part of his personality from his superior officer. 

 

 

"Maybe Bolly-knickers is right after all," Gene crossed his arms thoughtfully and rubbed at his chin. 

 

 

"Bolly...no, I don't want to know," Sam's steps faltered for a moment before resuming normal speed. 

 

 

"Well, to be honest, I was a little skeptical when she first showed up. Just like a certain other DI I seem to recall, out of the blue one day. We'd been told she'd transferred in...didn't know she was a "she," with her very manly name," Gene snorted. 

 

 

"That doesn't explain why she seems to think she knows me," Sam's voice was raw, almost pleading, as though he was grasping at the last thread of sanity he had left.

 

 

"You had us all thinking you were dead and you expect me to believe this isn't some elaborate joke?" Gene aimed a thoughtful look at Sam, eyes piercing and fit to cut glass.

 

 

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Sam's voice was low, shades of a threat tingeing it slightly.

 

 

"You never knew how to tell them anyway; I can't be sure." Gene said, at last, although his tone implied that he believed Sam.

 

 

They were interrupted by a pounding and yelling at the door.

 

 

“Gene! GENE! It’s me, open up! I’ve got to warn you about Sam! He’s not who you think he is!” came Alex’s very insistent voice, punctuated by her sharp raps on the door. “Don’t make me break this door down,” 

 

 

Gene sighed and pulled the door open, nearly causing Alex to pitch forward into his arms as she was slightly off-balance in her footing from leaning into the knock. “As someone else keeps saying lately, isn’t that supposed to be my line?” 

 

 

He wasn’t smiling as he said it. 

 

 

“Enquiring minds want to know, Alex. Just exactly how am I not who Gene thinks I am? And why would he believe you, anyway? He _knows_ me,” Sam punched his forefinger into his own chest for emphasis as his eyes took on that cold, glittering quality again. 

 

 

“How did you know where to find him? You only just got here!” Alex spluttered, eyes going wide as she pointed at Sam rather ineffectually.

 

 

“What’s the ‘D’ in your title stand for again? Mine stands for ‘Detective.’” Sam spat, and if he’d been a cat, his fur would have stood on end as he said it.

 

 

“There’s no need to fight over me, ladies, there’s more than enough of the Gene Genie to go around,” Gene raised his voice over the fray as he pulled a bottle of scotch from a cabinet and plunked three glasses down on the table next to it. 

 

 

Sam and Alex both rolled their eyes and huffed disgustedly. Watching them closely to make sure they weren’t going to start a fight he’d end up missing, Gene began pouring.

 

 

“If you two lovebirds will apologise, we can settle this like civilised adults,” Gene said, handing round two of the glasses and knocking his back in one go before pouring himself a second.

 

 

Both Sam and Alex gaped at Gene in disbelief, neither aware that the other was mirroring their expression. 

 

 

“What? It’s obvious this is going to take awhile. Why not do it as painlessly as possible? It’s clear I’m outgunned, so we obviously have to _talk_. God knows I wouldn’t if I had my choice,” Gene sniffed and wondered if he had enough alcohol in the house for the entirety of this discussion. Probably not.

******

"...and that's when he started calling me 'Gladys,'" Sam concluded, eyes sparkling with warmth and perhaps just a wee bit of drink.

 

 

"If you want to know what _I_ think," Alex began, swaying slightly; scotch was not usually her poison of choice. "I think he only gives out nicknames to those he cares about." 

 

 

She nodded vehemently in agreement with herself, hair flying in all directions as she did so. "If you're familiar with psychological aspects of nicknames," she started.

 

 

"Oh yes, as a matter of fact! I did a lot of reading up on it, me." Sam nodded almost as violently, only it looked even moreso since he didn't have any hair bouncing around to distract from his head. He giggled, although he wasn't quite sure why.

 

 

"You two keep nodding like noddy dogs at each other, you'll get concussion. Should've tried this trick earlier, would've saved my precious booze for a more prestigious occasion," Gene scowled, not liking at all how his two DIs were getting on.

 

 

"So you're sure you don't remember anything about Hyde?" Alex was deadly serious now.

 

 

"No, not really. And I never dated someone called 'Maya,' either. From your description of her, I'd remember if I had." Sam frowned into his drink, well gone by this point. His tolerance had dropped considerably after all his time in hospital.

 

 

Alex wasn't nearly as drunk as she was pretending to be. She'd hoped she might get Sam's guard down enough that he'd admit to remembering her, but either he was one of the finest actors she'd ever encountered, or else he really and truly didn't remember a thing. Trying to persuade herself to take things sequentially and carefully, she frowned and concentrated on extricating herself from the room. It was obvious she wasn't going to get any further tonight, and she wanted to go home and write some things down. Regroup. Formulate a new plan for tomorrow. Tack some notes up on her board and rearrange them until they made sense.

 

 

She yawned, stretched, and eyed the sun as it started to rise and was peeking in through a crack in the drawn curtains. "Bit past my bedtime, gentlemen, so if you'll excuse me. It's been a lovely evening," she said, adding an extra stumble for effect as she pulled herself up out of her chair. 

 

 

"You're welcome to stay here, if you'd rather," Gene was gruff, but concerned. It wasn't a far walk, but his white leather jacketed DI looked in no fit state to be walking anywhere. 

 

 

"No, no, it's really best if I get home. It's clear you've got a lot of catching up to do, and I'm just getting in the way of a boy's night. I'll see you on Monday, Gene. Sam," she nodded cordially, still making every effort to seem as though she was probably far too drunk to have much more than a fuzzy memory of all this come Monday morning.

 

 

Gene, by this point, knew better than to argue with her; besides which, he was fairly certain she could take care of herself by annoying the noncery out of any crim unlucky enough to cross her path. He sighed and eyed his former DI, who was at this point snoring lightly as he sprawled across Gene's sagging sofa. 

 

 

After the door shut firmly behind Alex, Gene rousted himself from his chair, picked up a slightly ragged blanket, and tossed it lightly over Sam before stumbling into his bedroom and falling fully clothed into bed.

******

Once home, Alex snapped herself out of her former bleary state and set straight to work analyzing and recording everything both via voice and with notes.

 

 

"He seems genuinely confused enough, but I still don't think I trust him. I just don't understand how it's possible that he could have done the things he'd done and not have any memory of it. Obviously, he must think he's going to have one over on me," she spoke into the little recorder, wishing it was as small as the one she was used to back home, with Molly.

 

 

No sooner had she thought of Molly than the girl appeared behind her, sitting on the edge of her bed, swinging her legs back and forth and humming a little to herself. All the times before, her daughter had been silent when she'd appeared; no matter how Alex had tried to get her to talk, she'd failed to do so.

 

 

Now she hummed, and it was a bit discomfiting, particularly after the night she'd just spent. Alex tore at her hair and shouted. "Honey? Molly, sweetie, it's me. Can you tell me what I'm supposed to do?"

 

 

Molly shook her head no, almost mockingly.

 

 

"Can you tell me anything, then? Does Sam Tyler have something to do with all this?" Alex fought to keep the hysteria out of her voice, a battle which she was losing by miles.

 

 

Molly smiled, a thoroughly wicked gleam entering her eyes and etching itself forever in Alex's brain. From this point forward, no matter how she tried to recall her daughter otherwise, she couldn't help but file this mental image in with all the others, and she couldn't help the little shudder she inwardly repressed every time it flashed before her mind's eye.

******

"So what's our next order of business, Guv?" Sam mumbled in his half-waking, half-sleeping state as he nearly tumbled off the sofa while stretching.

 

 

Gene stood at the sink in his bathroom, shaving. In bunny slippers. Sam couldn't help a small giggle escaping before he managed to tamp it down and keep it quiet.

 

 

"They were a _gift_ , and you can't just come swanning in here like nothing ever happened," Gene grumbled irritably. It was a minor miracle that he managed to avoid cutting himself into the bargain.

 

 

"I had an accident, and when I woke up _you_ were the one who had abandoned _me_ , so if there's anyone here who should be feeling hard done by, I would think it would be _me_ ," Sam said, eyes fiery, voice positively burning and low and dangerous. And directly over Gene's shoulder. 

 

 

Gene slammed his razor down next to the sink and turned around, completely disregarding the shaving foam that still clung to his right cheek. "You. Were. DEAD." he said, slamming his right forefinger into Sam's breastbone with each syllable, punctuating it in ways no grammar textbook would ever prove sufficient to teach. Clearly, despite the fact that he hadn't had such close physical contact with his officers since A division, he hadn't yet lost the knack of gaining the upper hand.

 

 

And just as quickly losing it. "You still haven't explained that to me. Obviously it's not true, and no amount of my telling you that I didn't do it will get through to you. But instead of trying to figure out what's actually happening, you keep insisting on something for which you have no evidence. Obviously time hasn't changed you one bit," Sam growled, voice still low, face mere millimetres away from Gene's at this point as he unconsciously swiped that little bit of shaving foam off his cheek with a forefinger.

 

 

"I don't need you or Drake to clean up after me, thank you. I've been doing well enough on my own for most of my adult life," was all Gene could think to say, so annoyed was he by the fact that Sam was at least partially right. 

 

 

"Let your anger overtake you and you miss out on little details," Sam's voice was suddenly tired as he wagged his foam-laden forefinger in Gene's face and backed away, moving to put on his shoes. 

 

 

"I _am_ glad you're back." Gene mumbled, turning back to the job in hand.

 

 

Sam made some sort of grunt in assent and bent to do up the laces on his shoes.

******

Alex, meanwhile, hadn't slept at all. She'd thought she might, but all thoughts of sleep vanished the instant Molly had appeared the way she had. Instead, she’d written reams of notes and tacked them up all over the corkboard on her wall. So engrossed in her work was she that, in fact, she didn’t even check the clock once until she noticed she was developing a nasty headache. As she went into her kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, she noticed the clock on the wall read 4:30; she had to assume it was PM, as there was still a bit of daylight streaming in through the curtain she’d pulled over the window.

 

 

When it all came down to it, Alex was becoming increasingly overwhelmed by an unutterable feeling of complete and total dread. Nothing was going as it should, and to make matters worse, one insistent question kept nagging at her and nagging at her until she wished nothing more than to be able to drink herself into a coma in this world. 

 

 

_If Sam was here, and Sam was dead in the present…didn’t that mean that she must be, too?_

 

 

Alex put her head down on her arms at her kitchen table as she waited for the water to boil. Had the whistling of the kettle not woken her up, she could easily have slept well into Sunday.


End file.
